"And the honor, we give to thee!" The chorus of voices issued a well-rehearsed reply. Similar exchanges took place nightly at parties like these. But for Léonide's part, at least, he had been honest; he delighted in the thought of the unity this night would bring, and in the joy of providing for others. He had always been a giving kind of person, even if he had grown up spoiled, as some claimed -- an accusation he would dispute, recalling the tyrranical reign and all-seeing eyes of his parents and caregivers.
---
He stood on the balcony, looking over his city. His betrothal, in truth, brought him great anxiety -- but he would never admit this. Other young men bemoaned their wives-to-be as well, after all, although something about his plight felt different. He couldn't pinpoint why -- it was probably just a selfish bias. He needed to keep his self-centeredness in check. The sight of the far-off lights made his heart rush, but the scent of the sea captivated him all the more. He loved to stare out at the horizon while on the beach, letting his mind wander free from the restrictions imposed by his family, even his country; these daydreams provided him a way to move beyond these confines, if only in his own mind.
The door slid open behind him. The intruder on his reverie took no cares to hide his presence, though he winced at the sound of the shutting door. Léonide finally turned when he heard a sigh, knowing his guest would wish to speak with him.
"Enjoying the night?" he asked. He smiled slightly despite himself when he saw the man: Damien d'Ossidi. He was a well-bred man, dark-haired with wise eyes, though short of stature and a little gaunt in the face. He always had shadows around his eyes, no matter how much he rested -- these days he didn't even bother -- and carried himself with a heavy, serous demeanor. But Léonide knew better than to fall for that; he had seen the man in his liveliness before.
"The night? I suppose. Why not? It's cool, but not freezing. The stars are out. And all the fools of the city are too busy enjoying themselves in here to be making a ruckus in the streets. So, yes, it is a good night."
Léonide grinned. Here Damien was, being difficult again. He loved to banter with the man.
"That's all well and good, but I meant the ... festivities."
"Again. Those? Great. But the people? Not so much." Damien took a drink from the glass he was holding, then gagged. Léonide held out his hand.
"No need to torture yourself," he said. He knew Damien rarely drank. "If you won't have that, then I shall."
"As you wish." He handed over the glass and Léonide downed it.
He, too, gagged. "Good heaven. This /is/ foul."
"I would've warned you," said Damien, as he pulled out a pipe instead. "But you wouldn't have listened."
Léonide shrugged off the slight. He was used to this sort of behavior from Damien, and he respected it. Honesty was like a breath of fresh air in a society so concerned with appearances as his. And in any case, that may as well have been a compliment coming from Damien; it meant he paid enough attention to him to note his quirks, as well as his flaws. And Damien d'Ossidi paid no man mind.
Damien lit his pipe and began to smoke in silence. Léonide wrinkled his nose. "That will be the death of you, you know."
"Everyone needs a vice," Damien replied. They'd had this conversation many times before.
"And I'm sure you can find some other, but for heaven's sake, not this. It's detestable. How can you stand it? That awful smoke racking your lungs."
"I will remind you that we have different priorities... my dear host. For instance: why would you willingly poison yourself and dull your wits? To drink is become stupid and slow. Why bother?"
That phrase was Damien in a nutshell.
"You have a point." Léonide took a sip from his own glass, pondering his troubles again. He had made peace, for a moment, with the struggles surrounding his betrothal, but as soon as Damien had walked out, the storm within him picked up again. It troubled him, and he reflected on it in the silence that followed their brief exchange. He never felt any pressure to speak around Damien, nor did he sense any resentment when he /was/ talkative. It was a strange and perfect balance. He liked it.
He watched Damien for a while. He was looking away, breathing slowly. He seemed completely at peace, as if he had no troubles of his own rattling about his head. Léonide envied him for that. What was it like, he wondered, to be so peaceful? But he never asked. It felt quite personal, and for some reason he didn't want to let on that he paid such close attention to him. Finally he thought of a question to break the silence.
"Why are you here? Outside with me, I mean. Having me nag you can't be any more peaceful than listening to the others prattling about their latest hook-ups or other nonsense."
Damien put his pipe down. Léonide feared for a moment that he had upset him. Damien turned to look at him, and Léonide saw a familiar intensity in his eyes.
"You, even in your silence, are far more interesting than any of them." Léonide thought he saw a smile on his face, before his typical serious expression returned.
"Foolishness."
"No. The exact opposite. You are the least foolish prerson I have ever met. Not that that's saying much."
"... but it /is/ something." Léonide frowned. Another short silence passed -- but both of the men were tense now. Léonide spoke up again.
"You are no fool. So why do you reckon me worth your time? I know you hate parties. Yet you endure this one... why?"
"I like to hear you speak."
Léonide laughed. "You are the strangest man I have ever met, you know?"
"I try."
"Yet it makes you the most interesting."
Damien tensed, then laughed. "Perhaps you are a fool, if you would appraise me so." His voice darkened. "I do my best to be as dreadfully uninteresting as possible."
"Yet in this endeavor, you fail. Consistently." Léonide crossed his arms and pursed his lips.
Damien shook his head. "Enough of this. I am sure you have much more interesting news to regale me with." Léonide winced -- he knew Damien spoke of his impending marriage. "Perhaps we should discuss that instead. Although ... you may prefer a more private venue," he suggested, glancing through the windows.
Léonide followed his gaze and nodded. "That would be for the best, I think. Shall we to the garden, then?" He instinctively offered his arm, and was surprised to see Damien latch onto it.
"After you, my host."